Ink Stains
by Redluna
Summary: A series of drabbles for the various characters of the Tudors.
1. Beginnings

**I was tempted to write another poem for this fandom, but I kept drawing on a blank for what to write. In my hunt for ideas, I stumbled across a drabble list and became inspired to use it for the Tudors. **

**I know that this one is short but I hope that enjoy it.**

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**#001-Beginnings **

For something that would grow into something so incredible that it could nearly be considered legendary, it started with something so simple.

It was a spur of the moment decision on his part, a desire to claim that regal beauty with the tempting eyes as his own. There was no way for him to know what would happen if he acted on that urge. Indeed, how could anyone have seen what was to come?

Then came the words, spoken to one another as they moved through the steps of the dance.

"_Who are you?"_

"_I'm Anne. Anne Boleyn."_

And just like that, things began to change.


	2. Middles

**This is a tribute of sorts for Lady Eleanor Boleyn. She was the one that made me fall in love with this pairing in the first place. I've wanted to write something with these two characters ever since I read "A Falcon Princess". **

**On another note, I am open to suggestions of what characters you would like to see featured in this. The next prompt is "Ends" so if you have any character you think would fit for it then feel free to tell me!**

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**#002-Middles **

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Mary never thought that her future would be one like this. She was born with royal blood in her veins, the descendent of Isabella and Ferdinand of Castille, a true Princess, despite what her father might believe. Since her childhood, she had been told that she would be wed to a Prince, a man that would become a King when she took the throne.

However, her world had undergone drastic changes since her childhood. Her father had declared that she was a bastard, unfit to sit upon the throne, and, though she was married, it was not to the Prince that she had been promised.

Her husband was a Viscount, who would be an Earl twice over when his father died, a title that he hadn't even been born into. It was hardly a secret that the King had given him the title in an effort to please his sister, Anne Boleyn.

His family ties were reason enough for Mary to resent him, but she did not. In fact, as impossible as such a thing might seem, she loved him.

George possessed one of the kindest hearts she had ever known and he strove to do right by her in nearly everything that he did. He might lack the means to provide for her the lifestyle that she had been accustomed to as a Princess, but he always went out of his way to give her the best that he could afford. And his charming, openly affectionate nature towards caused her to fall even harder for him.

That was why she felt no sense of ill will as she pressed her hands to her stomach where she could already feel a small curve. She had suspected what her condition was for quite some time, but she hadn't wanted to say anything until she was absolutely certain. Her heart fluttered as she felt that slight movement within herself again. A ridiculously happy smile appeared on her face as she imagined what George's reaction to this would be.

She was so lost in her own happiness that she gave a slight start at the sound of the downstairs' door swinging open and a familiar voice calling out for her.

"Mary? Mary, my love, where are you?"

A small bubble of laughter escaped from Mary as she rushed out of her chambers, eager to tell her husband that he was soon to be a father.


	3. Ends

**Thanks to Pandora of Ithilien for the i****nspiration for this drabble.**

**Next prompt: First**

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**#003-Ends**

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Katherine believed that she had understood the risks that came with her position as the Queen of England. It was difficult not to remember the women that had worn the crown before her and the events that had lead to each of their downfalls. She tried not to do anything that would cause the King to become displeased with her and she thought that she had done well in that regard. It seemed as if she would be able to escape the fate that had enclosed her predecessors.

However, the piece of parchment that she held in her hands told her otherwise—it was a warrant for her arrest.

Katherine tried to think of what she could have done to give Henry a reason to do such a thing, but she could think of nothing. Except perhaps…her views on religion? She had debated with her husband on such matters before and had appeared as though he had enjoyed. It was possible that she could have misjudged his reaction, however. If that were the case then she would have to rectify her mistake as soon as she could.

She rose to her feet, despite the faintness in her head, forcing herself to keep the fear from her expression as she handed the warrant back to the servant who had brought it to her with a sincere word of thanks.

She had to believe that she would be able to solve this matter before the warrant could be carried out. She was already one step ahead of her enemies since she had been informed of what they were plotting. There had to be some way for her to turn this towards her favor.

She refused to allow Henry to end his marriage to her like he had done with his other wives.


	4. First

**This was inspired in one part because of Lady Eleanor Boleyn and another because I was just too tempted to work with these two characters again and when I saw the prompt this was the very first thing to come to mind. This is a companion piece to "Middles". **

**The next prompt is "Last". I'm open to suggestions on this one because I'm still unsure who to use for it.**

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**#004-First**

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It had begun at some point in the early morning. Mary had been wrenched awake by a burst of sharp pain that radiated along the lower part of her back. Mary struggled to get the heavy bedclothes away from her body, desperate to confirm her suspicions of what was happening to her. Sure enough, the sheets below her were soaked with fluid.

Mary cried out for her maid as the next wave of pain washed over her. Once she was able to gather her wits, she ordered the girl to fetch Mistress Jones and the other midwives that George had summoned to the house as she neared her delivery date. Then, at the memory of her husband, she told the girl to send word to husband that her labor had begun.

It seemed like an eternity had passed since that moment. Mary was aware of little else then the pains that wracked her body so fast that they were nearly on top of each other and the words of support coming from the women around her.

"I can see the head crowning!" Mistress Jones announced. She cast a sympathetic glance at the young woman on the bed. "It won't take much longer now. Just one big push and it will all be over."

Mary took a deep breath, tightening her grip on the hands of women who held her before doing as the midwife instructed.

Then it was over, the child failing out into the midwife's outstretched arms.

Mary fell back against the pillows that had been propped up behind her. A faint smile appeared on her face at the sound of a small wail that came from the bundle in the midwife's arms.

"What is it?" She asked. George had ensured her that the gender of their child didn't matter to him, as long as it was born healthy, and Mary was of the same mind, but she knew that her father-in-law, Thomas Boleyn, would be expecting a boy to continue the Boleyn family line. He hadn't made it a secret that that was all he considered Mary to be good for.

"It's a boy, my lady," Mistress Jones said. Mary held out her arms in a silent question and the woman handed her child to her with a smile.

Mary cradled her son to her chest, staring down at his small face with a sense of wonder. She had never seen such a beautiful infant. In her experience, newborns were born with red, scrunched up faces that were expected to become prettier later, but that was not the case with her boy. It was hard to believe that something so perfect could have come from her.

The wispy curls atop his delicate skull were the same dark shade as his father's, but his eyes were a bright blue that gave her hope that he might have inherited her eye color.

She raised her head as the door to her chambers swung up, beaming at George as he made his way to her side. "We have a son," She told him. She shifted her arms as her husband sat down next to her on the bed so that he would be able to see his child.

"A son," George murmured. "I have a son." He trailed a gentle finger down the child's tiny nose, chuckling when it scrunched up in response. "What do you want to name him, sweetheart?"

Mary didn't give an answer right away. The two of them had discussed names before, for both boys and girls, but now she wasn't sure. She knew that Thomas Boleyn would expect the child to be named after him since it was a boy, but that would mean that her father would want the same privilege for the same reason. Still, there was a small part of her that wanted to defy them both and choose the name that she had dwelt upon in her mind, even though she had never mentioned it seriously to George. In the end, she decided that it was that name that would be best suited for her son.

"Arthur."

George turned towards her in surprise. "Are you sure?" He asked.

Mary responded with a firm nod. "I know it's not what either of grandfathers will be expecting," She said, "but it's the name that suits him best." She glanced at him with a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. "Besides, he's only our first child. We can honor our fathers later if we happen to have more sons. I have to admit that I'm rather hoping for a daughter next."

George found himself unable to do more than blink for a few moments, but then he released a roar of laughter. "Oh, Mary, I do love you so!" He bent down to capture his wife's mouth with his own, silencing her own laugh.


	5. Last

**It's happened, I've finally succumbed to temptation and written a drabble with a OC character! I had about a dozen ideas about what to write for this prompt, but I actually sat down to write them out, none of them were able to work out onto the paper. Then I was re-reading parts of the book "Constant Princess" by Philippa Gregory when I reached the scene featuring the death of Elizabeth of York and was struck by an enermous "What If?" possibility. In the end, I just couldn't help it and this drabble was born. The next prompt will be "Hours". **

**Notes: In the book "Constant Princess" Philippa Gregory claims that Elizabeth of York died giving birth to a Prince. However, based on the other sources I've checked, she died giving birth to a daughter named Katherine. I decided to go with the idea of her having a son instead, but then again, the Tudors has had its share of historical inaccuracies. However, the part with Elizabeth dying nine days after giving birth is a fact. **

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**#005-Last**

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Elizabeth of York had given birth to seven children, although it had pleased God to take four of them away from her, but she had never experienced a labor like this. There seemed to be no breaks between the searing pains that coursed through her body, leaving her without any time to try to catch her breath. She clung so hard to the hands of the women on either side of her that her knuckles were turning white. She arched her back from the bed with a cry of agony as the ache seemed to rise like a crescendo within her.

The anxious words of the midwife managed to penetrate her foggy mind, bringing with it an overwhelming sense of relief. "I can see the head, Your Majesty! Just one more push and it all be over, I promise you."

Elizabeth gritted her teeth, doing her best to ignore the pain as she summoned what remained of her strength for a final push. It was over not even a second after, the pain disappearing as though it had never existed.

Elizabeth fell back against the pillows that had been arranged behind her what seemed like an eternity ago. But even her utter exhaustion was unable to keep a smile from forming on her lips as she heard the loud cry of her newborn babe. She was glad to hear her little one wail at such a high pitch for it meant that he had to be healthy.

Her eyes fell down to half-mast, although she refused to allow them to fall shut all the way. "What is it?" She asked in a voice rough from screaming.

The midwife brought her eyes from the squirming bundle in her arms to favor her Queen with a beaming smile. "It's a son, Your Majesty," She replied.

"A son…" Elizabeth murmured. Her smile grew even wider now, eyes filling with tears that she was too tired to wipe away. When she realized that she was pregnant, she had hoped that the child would be a boy. Another son to replace the one that she had lost only a year before, far too early into his marriage to the beautiful Spanish Princess. "I want to see him," She commanded. She knew that she was far too weak to hold her son at the moment, but she still wanted to be able to see his face.

"Of course, Your Majesty," The midwife said. She moved towards the side of the bed, lowering her arms so that Elizabeth could see her infant's face.

The child appeared to be as robust as her other son, Henry, was upon his birth. She could already tell that if she were to hold him in her arms that he would be a firm, heavy weight. She was surprised by how much he seemed to resemble her, however. There were tuffs of blond curls along his delicate skull and his eyes were a bright shade of blue that would probably one day liken to her own clear shade of the color. He had even inherited her fair complexion with only a hint of rose around his full little cheeks.

The only features that her son had inherited from his father were the small, rounded shape of his eyes and his slender nose, which, although small now, would no doubt become longer in the feature till resembled even more that of the King's.

"His name shall be Arthur," Elizabeth announced. "After his poor brother." She ignored the gasps that came from the ladies around her. "I am sure that my husband will agree." She leaned forward to press a firm kiss to the top of her son's head, chuckling as he reached out to grab at her face with his tiny plump hands.

She dismissed the midwife with a wave of her hand, sending her off to show the new Prince to her husband. She didn't want to be parted with her newborn, but knew that she had to rest. There would be plenty of time for her to be with Arthur later.

She let her eyes fall shut with a faint smile, rejoicing in the fact that she could use that name for one of her children once more. She was asleep no more than a heartbeat later, her dreams filled with images of what her son could become.

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Nine days later, as the entire country was mourned for the loss of their wonderful Queen Elizabeth, the Prince lay within his cradle in the royal nursery, crying out for the mother that he would never have the chance to know.

_And so the fate of a kingdom morphs into something new…_


	6. Hours

**I decided to use Katherine Howard for this one. I was working with a different idea until the last line of this came into my head and I had to use it so it was changed. The lines at the top are from the song "Catherine Howard's Fate" by Blackmore's Night, which is a beautiful song.**

**Next Prompt: "Days" (And I'm open to any suggestions for this!)**

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**#006-Hours**

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_Was it my heart that doth betray me _

_'Cause I loved more than one man?_

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Katherine hoped that she looked like a Queen as she stood there upon the scaffold, but she knew that it was more likely that she appeared the way that she felt—a terrified little girl.

She still wasn't able to understand how things had come to this. It seemed like only yesterday that everything was as it should be with the King presenting her with another splendid gift and Thomas staring at her from behind him, his beautiful eyes filled with wonderful promises for later.

But everything was over now that the great love that the King had bore her was gone. Every present that the King had ever given her had been taken away along with her title as Queen. And, far worse than any of that, Thomas was gone. The evidence of that horrible fact was revealed to her as she entered the Tower to find his head resting there on a spike next to Francis Dereham. She broke down almost immediately crying out his name between the sobs that felt as if they were choking her. She was hardly aware of the arms that wrapped around her, leading her away from the hideous sight.

Katherine felt her heart give a start as the man at her side bent forward to murmur into her ear. "It's time, My Lady."

She gave him a slight nod before walking forward with her back as straight as she could manage. She gazed out at the crowd that had come to watch her die with a solemn expression in a last of attempt to maintain some sort of regal appearance.

"I have come here to die," She announced. She thought of what she had done to lead her to such a fate, but found herself unable to regret any of it. She loved Thomas more than anyone could possibly understand, she still did, and it was this emotion that brought strength to her next words. "I die a Queen but I would rather die the wife of Culpeper."

She paid little attention the murmurs her words caused as she bent down before the block. She looked up at the sky, which was surprising clear for so late into winter, something that made her smile. "Life is…very beautiful," She said.

She brought her gaze back to the block with her strength returned. She ignored the fact that it was covered in blood from the execution of Lady Rochford, who had gone before her. She did as she had practiced for hours in her room in the Tower. She let her hands skim along the top of the block before allowing them to clutch at the sides. Then she took a deep breath before laying her head gracefully down upon the piece of wood.

She could sense the axe hovering above her, dropping trickles of blood onto her neck, but she felt no fear. Instead a strange sense of calm overtook her, for she knew that after she died she would be able to see her Thomas again. And, in the end, wasn't it better to die with love, then to live without it?


	7. Days

**First off, a shout out to Pandora of Ithilien since the Handmaid concept that she uses in her story "Handmaid" was brought up in one of my classes today!**

**I don't think that this is one of the best, but I leave your decision about it up to you.**

**Next Prompt: Weeks**

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**#007-Days**

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**Whenever Henry took a new wife, she always differed drastically from the one that had come before her. Still, there was a similarity that could be drawn between all of the women who had worn the crown; something that connected them like a tight golden thread. And what was this thing?

It was Katherine of Aragon as she was forced to endure numerous stillbirths, the only living child she was able to produce a daughter. Anne Boleyn, struggling to produce the son that she had promised, only to discover that the only child she was able to carry full term was only another girl. Jane Seymour, knowing that she had to produce the male heir that Henry was convinced she would give him, only to lose herself in the process. Anne of Cleves, who never even got the chance to try to produce a child of either gender. Katherine Howard, unable to quicken with child, even though she shared a bed with a much younger man than her aging husband. And Katherine Parr, wondering sometimes if her husband still didn't hope that he would be able to conceive another male heir.

It was the desperate days of waiting for a life to grow within them, for each knew that was the only way to secure the love of a King.


	8. Weeks

**Oh, boy, it's been awhile hasn't it! **

**Warnings: Possible emotion triggers. **

**Next Prompt: Months (I'm open to ideas on this one!)**

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**#009-Weeks**

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Mary had just wanted to take a short nap. George had gone off to hunt earlier that morning, advising her to lie down if she began to feel tried. It was still in the early stages of her pregnancy, but both knew that it was better to be safe then sorry.

She had passed most of the day with Arthur, who, after a year, was fast becoming the darling of the nursery. His temperament was a fairly easy one, even if he had a habit of crying whenever he wanted people to pay attention to him. Everyone who saw him remarked on how like his father he looked. Except for his eyes, that was, for they were a perfect match to the sapphire of his mother's own.

He had just begun to learn how to take a few wobbling steps, although this was mostly accomplished by clutching onto another's hand. Still, Mary, along with the ladies of the nursery, had begun to try to have him move further without assistance. They would coo with delight every time he managed to move a little bit further forward, clapping their hands together. Arthur was enormously pleased to have their attention in such a way and would offer p a wide, gummy smile to show just how much.

It wasn't until she had begun to prepare her son for his nap that she started to feel the first twinges of weariness. Arthur fortunately dozed off quickly, allowing her to place him down in his cradle without fuss before heading off to her own bed.

She was only able to rest for little more than an hour, however, when the pain began. It was enough to send her lurching awake with a gasp, hands darting out to find the source of it. She almost felt as though she was going into labor but that was impossible. She had only found out that she was with child a few weeks ago so here was still many months to go until she reached her due date. Yet she could feel some sort of fluid around her legs that felt similar to when her water had broken with Arthur.

Her eyes flew wide with a terrible sense of realization, clawing at the blankets to see if it was really true. A part of her didn't want to see it, for it hurt too much to imagine it being true, but she knew that there was no way to escape from it.

The shrill cry she released once she finally managed to push the blankets aside was enough to send her maids rushing in. Each woman gasped as they took in the sight before them.

There was blood seeping through the bottom of their lady's shift, staining her thighs with crimson.

One woman went running off to fetch the physician while the others rushed to Mary. Stull, nothing they did could console her as she pressed a hand between her legs, trying to keep the child within her from escaping.

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George had ridden back at a breakneck speed once the messenger reached him to inform him of what had happened within his household. The servants gave him a wide berth upon his return, hardly daring to meet his eye as he passed. He could tell that they were trying to gauge his reaction to what had occurred and were trying to avoid invoking his rage if it turned out he was angry.

Perhaps if he were a lesser man then he might be furious with his wife for losing the child that they had barely just learned she was carrying. But all he could think on the way to their private chambers was: _Mary, oh God, _Mary_. _

He was grateful that the maids had managed to change the bed sheets before he arrived. He doubted he would be able to keep his composure if faced with such blatant evidence of the event. They had even changed Mary into a different shift, propping her up with pillows in an effort to make her more comfortable.

None of this seemed to effect Mary in any way, however. Her face had been drained of all color to the point that even her lips appeared pale. She kept her hands clutched together on the bed, eyes fixed blankly ahead. She seemed, for all the world, like a prisoner awaiting her sentence.

It wasn't until George stepped forward that her eyes snapped over to him. Only then did any emotion show within them and he took a sharp intake of breath as he recognized it as fear.

"Oh, Mary, no." He rushed forward, grateful that the servants understood it was time for them to leave without anything being said. His arms were around his wife in an instant, holding her close as he ran his hands across her back. "I don't blame you for any of this. It was just some horrible accident. Neither of us could have done anything to stop it."

It was only then that Mary allowed her tears to run free, hands flying up to grip onto her husband. She knew that they would eventually have to announce what had happened or else it would leak out anyway. She could already imagine the disapproving gaze of Lord Rochford and the whispers that would circulate around the court of what she could have done to lose the baby.

But for now she just wanted to remain with George, drawing strength and comfort from his embrace.


	9. Months

**I promise that I will give Mary a happy story again in one of these! The quote at the top comes from _Legacy_, by Susan Kay and was inscribed on the grand cradle built for Mary's future child.**

**The idea behind this piece is this: What if one of Mary's phantom pregnancies was actually real?**

**The next prompt will be "Years". Any suggestions?**

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**#009-Months**

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_The child which through Mary, oh Lord of Might has sent_

_To England's joy, in health preserve, keep and defend._

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**March 1558**

It had not been an easy labor by any means. Such a thing was to be expected, however, despite all the prayers offered up for it to be otherwise. The Queen was hardly in the pluck of youth anymore, being even older than Katherine Parr has been in her first—and only—pregnancy. Still, after the disaster that had followed when she declared herself with child for the first time, people had been openly celebrating that the pregnancy had even come to term.

And now there was even more cause to rejoice for the Queen had given birth to a boy. He was no trifling weakling either, but a firm, heavy weight in his mother's arms. He was all too ready to show that there was strength in his little lungs too, wailing his head off when he was taken from his mother.

Mary could feel tears pricking behind her eyes as she watched her son being passed into the arms of her husband. Every fiber of her body ached to be able to reclaim him, to marvel once more in this precious thing that had somehow come from her own body. Yet she knew why he had been taken from her, could feel it in the overwhelming weakness of her body, and the thought that she could have dropped her boy while holding him was enough to stop her from demanding him back.

The midwives were already fussing over the amount of blood she had lost, which was far more than what was to be expected after a normal labor. Philip even looked truly anxious for her, instead of the usual façade he adopted, and he watched white faced as one of her ladies darted out to summon the physician.

Mary already knew, however, that there was nothing the man would be able to do. It was obvious in the pounding of her head and the way her vision, which was never particularly strong to begin with, was starting to blur around the edges. An even clearer sign came in the warm slickness still seeping forth from between her legs, which, despite the best efforts of the midwives, still continued to come.

No, she was not long for this world.

A choked sob escaped from her, drawing the startled eyes of everyone in the room. Her ladies were quick to flock around her, smoothing her hair back from her sweaty face and offering soft promises of comfort. But the feeling in Mary wasn't one that could be so easily soothed. She had fulfilled her duty, securing both the fate of the true religion and that of the realm, but she wouldn't be able to see her son grow up to achieve his destiny. He wouldn't even have a chance to know her.

She clung to the last threads of her strength, however, taking a deep breath to steady her emotions. She could remember how her own blessed mother had managed to keep her misery at bay when giving Mary her blessing on her way to Ludlow. And that, more than anything, told her what she had to do.

She beckoned Philip forward and, for once, he obeyed her without question. She raised her hand to brush it across the crown of her son's head, smiling as he turned instinctively towards her. The candles made the tears in her eyes shine, but her voice remained steady, full of a soft strength as she spoke to her son in Spanish, just like her own mother had done many years ago.

"You must be strong, my son, for your destiny is a mighty one. Through you all the scars that have been inflicted on our country will be healed. For you come from the only true royal line and no one will ever be able to take that from you. So be strong, and be true, and one day you will be King. I shall make sure of it."

For even if she could not be there for her son in body, she would be there in spirit, guiding him through the mighty steps that were to come.

She fell back against her pillows then, eyelids drooping as Philip stepped aside to allow the priest to come forward to offer the last rites. She had already reached her own paradise, seeing before her the golden England that her son would create.

"He will be named William," she murmured.

He would be named after William the Conqueror, for that was just what her son would be.

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After the death of the Queen, Philip was quick to cling to the Act of Parliament that declared him regent in case of such event. But while many of the Catholics on the Parliament were prepared to stand by it, the people of England were not. Their reason for rebelling against the marriage in the first place had been out of unwillingness to be made into a part of Spain and now it seemed like their worst fears were being realized.

It took little time at all for the rebellion to be mustered and the size of it—along with its influential backers—made it impossible for Philip to overcome. He was driven from the country, his infant son to an uncertain future.

The council of the newly fashioned Queen Elizabeth debated over whether he should suffer an accidental death or, for those who found such a thing too much to be born, be left with some peasant family where he could do no harm.

Elizabeth refused both options outright, however, her tone making it clear how heinous she found it that her council would even consider such actions. The boy was of her blood, a Tudor as much as she was, and she refused to allow him to be cast away like he was nothing. Furthermore, she was in no hurry to marry and indeed there would be no need for her to when there was already an heir in the cradle. And, in the end, the thought of being able to be a mother appealed to her more than anything.

It wasn't the fate that Mary had so confidently predicted, but it would bring about a time beyond all imagining.


	10. Years

**This prompt picks up from "Last" where the idea of Henry having a younger brother before he became King of England was introduced. He doesn't pop in here in the flesh, but a new pairing does, which hopefully none of you will be too displeased with.**

**Next Prompt: Red (We're getting into the colors now!)**

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**#010-Years**

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Katherine had known her brother-in-law since he was a baby always ready with a gummy smile for her, which had been a welcome relief in a time when so many people looked upon her with scorn. There was talk, of course, that in the absence of a son from her womb, the Duke of York was a natural candidate for the throne. Yet that was something she could not bring herself to fret over. Arthur had been there to comfort her through each fresh lose when another child was surrendered to stillbirth or miscarriage, and he delighted in Mary as though she were his own daughter. He would no doubt be one of Mary's most powerful backers by the time she took the throne.

No, there was nothing to fear from the boy. This girl before her, however, was another matter entirely.

When Henry had informed her that he planned on placing Anne Boleyn among her ladies, Katherine had felt a flash of fear. Her husband had already engaged in a dalliance with the older sister Mary—and many other women—through the same maneuverings. She was prepared to have to shut her eyes against her husband's obvious philandering once more, determined that she would not allow anyone to see just how much it hurt her.

When months passed, however, without any move from Henry towards Mistress Anne, Katherine was left puzzled. Her first bit of an answer came when Henry began to visit her more, truly talking to her like he hadn't done in far too long. At first she was so lost in the pleasure of such a thing that she didn't catch it; perhaps that had even been their intention. But then she realized that Henry brought his brother with him on virtually every visit and although Arthur would still treat her with all his usual warmth, he didn't linger with her and Henry. Instead he would seek out a woman that seemed to be waiting for him in the back of her chambers.

Henry had not brought Anne Boleyn to court for his own pleasure. He had brought her there for the sake of his brother's.

Once her eyes had been opened to what was happening, Katherine began to see the two together everywhere. She could pick the two out amongst the throngs of people in the reception hall, Anne's eyes sparkling brightly as Arthur gave one of his true, deep laughs at something she had said. If she looked out her window then there the two would be in the gardens, always with some male relative trailing behind as chaperone. Anne's hand would be tucked into the crook of Arthur's arm, their heads bowed together as they spoke, lost in their own world.

Even when the two were apart, Anne still commanded Arthur's attention. She had a way of peering up at him from under the dark curtain of her eyelashes, the corners of her mouth turning up into a small smile of pleasure when he caught her gaze. And the glances that passed between them always looked as if they were exchanging some private secret with one another.

If it were nothing more than a dalliance, Katherine could have ignored it. It was only natural for Arthur to indulge himself in such a way. Sweet as he was, he was still a man with all the desires of one. No one could expect him to remain celibate forever.

Yet Arthur had made it quite clear that his attentions for Anne were far from that when he marched into the main hall that day and, in full view of the court, presented her what he deemed "a token of his affection".

The girl was wearing it draped around her neck now, a beautiful necklace of emerald set in gold with two large pearls dropping down from the pendant. Katherine could almost admire the girl's courage in wearing it, for no one could ever doubt where it had come from, even if they had not witnessed the scene all the court was abuzz over. A mere knight's daughter would never be able to afford such a piece.

There was a part of Katherine that wished she could like Anne since it was clear that Arthur cared for her. But it was for that dear boy that she had to fight against this. For no matter how Anne played at being the virtuous maiden, Katherine knew better. There was no way to hide the sharp mind that flickered between those haunting blue eyes. Anne knew just what power she could wield through Arthur if she were able to hold him under her sway. Power. That was all that mattered.

She wasn't wholly ignorant to Anne's softer feelings towards the Reformation, something that made her shudder. If Arthur was to be brought under the control of such a woman then there was no knowing what could happen.

She had purposefully put Anne in a subservient position tonight, knowing that the girl would have to kneel while she washed her feet. She dismissed her other ladies while Anne set about drying her feet off with a clean linen cloth, not wanting them to be present for her discussion with the lady in question.

She waited until the clicks of her ladies heels had died away down the hall to pose her starting question. "That necklace. Who gave it to you?" She felt a flicker of irritation when the girl refrained from answering her. "Answer me."

Anne rose her head then, meeting the Queen's gaze squarely. "His Highness the Duke of York," she said. There was no hesitation in her voice then, not a hint of fear. She inhaled sharply, however, when Katherine snatched at the pendant, pulling her forward.

"You're expensive, huh?" Katherine spat out a quick phrase in her native Castilian before letting the pendant drop so she could recline in her seat. _"An expensive whore!"_

Anne surprised her, however, by understanding just what had been said. "I am no whore." She tacked on, "Your Majesty," only after Katherine raised her eyebrows at her. "I love, His Highness, I believe he loves me."

Katherine laughter came out more like a scoff, unable to hide her scorn. "He is still a boy, attracted to something that seems new and beautiful. He has yet to know the meaning of love. Soon he will see you for what you really are and his interest will disappear."

Anne dropped her eyes and, for a moment, Katherine thought she had dealt the girl a true blow. But it appeared Anne was only waiting for a moment to collect herself for she leaned back, eyes flicking up to the Queen once more. "And what if he does not?"

Katherine could not control her composure when Anne voice what was, unconsciously, her greatest fear. "I did not give you permission to speak," she snapped. "You are a _servant_! Go now. Go!"

Despite her labeling of Anne as a servant, the woman held her gaze brazenly, as though to remind her that it might not be long before her position would be raised higher. Even when she rose up into her curtsey, it was not before offering a small nod, like a Queen dismissing an unruly subject.

It left Katherine feeling far more shaken then she had expected.

* * *

**I hope Katherine didn't come across as too mean here. She's only doing what she thinks is right to protect Arthur. She likely won't be the only one either. As the only male heir to the throne left, there are many important brides (some even royal) to be considered for him and Henry (who no doubt thought Arthur only wanted Anne as a mistress) won't be too pleased to learn that Arthur wants to throw it all the way for the love of a knight's daughter.**


End file.
